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The links between 15th century Welsh warrior Owain Glyndwr and the 132-mile footpath through Mid-Wales that’s named after him are a little tenuous at times, but as I trudged past the Arthurian landscape around Glaslyn Lake in mid-summer drizzle it wasn’t hard to imagine a band of his medieval warriors emerging from the gloom.

The scenery becomes even more atmospheric as you continue north between 564-metre Foel Fadian and the inaccessible crags and precipices that plunge down towards Afon Dulas. Swirls of low cloud and mist snaked up from the chasm beneath to briefly reveal the barren crags far below, and if the ghosts of Glyndwr and his men lurked anywhere on the trail then this was surely the spot.

This particular stretch of the route from Llanidloes to the Dulas Valley was the most strenuous but most spectacular leg of the nine day hike, which although in existence since the seventies has recently taken on a new lease of life thanks to the elimination of large chunks of road walking which previously bedevilled the trail. The new route was opened last April, and Glyndwr’s Way is now being touted as Britain’s ‘newest’ long distance footpath.

The trail’s name comes from the fact that it passes close to a number of sites linked with Owain Glyndwr, a charismatic Welsh leader who almost succeeded in establishing an independent Welsh nation. The halfway point is at the attractive market town of Machynlleth, where Glyndwr established himself as Prince of Wales and set up a Welsh Parliament in 1404.

With a pal from student days, Rupert, I’d started from Knighton four days earlier and we were both well into the blisters and sore feet stage by the time we got to Glasfryn Lake, having trudged over rolling green hills, through oak woodlands, between fields criss-crossed with hedgerows of hawthorn and honeysuckle and up onto high, wind whipped moorland in weather that was more like April than June. It seemed that every ten minutes we were changing into or out of waterproofs.

The first day’s walking from Knighton to Felindre provides a good taster of what to expect. The footpaths are deserted (we met only three other hikers along the entire route), towns and villages are small and few and far between, and the scenery is picturesque rather than spectacular in the way of the better-known landscapes of Snowdonia. We made our way up and down verdant green valleys and climbed regularly up onto breezy moorland where skylarks twittered above, the occasional lapwing flapped low across the sky and a good part of the area’s big, broad backed hills came into view, many bristling with their recently acquired wind farms.

The highlight of day two was the superb ridge top viewpoint at 440-metre Ysgwd-ffordd, from where we descended to the beautiful wooded valley of the Bachell Brook and the gothic remains of 12th century Abbey Cwmhir, which was destroyed in 1401 by Glyndwr after he discovered that most of the monks were English. We were hoping to get a pint in the hamlet here, but alas the only pub was shut. This was a problem we encountered a number of times, and if you’re stopping in B&Bs along the route as we did, ensure they provide you with a large packed lunch since it’s unlikely you’ll find any pit stops.

Day three takes you through the heart of wind farm country to the pleasant little market town of Llanidloes. There are few vantage points along this section from where one wind farm or another isn’t visible, and as you trek the final few miles into the town you can hear the turbines humming on the ridges above. This was a long day with over 18 miles of walking, but the next was to be our most arduous. Climbing up past the glittering waters of Llyn Clywedog, held back by Britain’s tallest mass concrete dam, we could see back into the heart of Wales and to the distant blue hilltops we’d already crossed. Suddenly a sense of achievement started to set in as we could physically see that we were actually making progress across Wales’ least known landscapes.

The only people we met today were farmers rounding up their sheep for shearing. They (the farmers, not the sheep) would inevitably indulge us in long and friendly conversations. Rupert timed a shearer in action - one minute per sheep, and by the time we’d tramped across miles of moorland and past Glaslyn Lake to arrive at our B&B I could have eaten one of those sheared sheep raw.

Fortunately day five was a short seven mile hop into Machynlleth, following some superb hiking and mountain biking trails through airy, open moorland and forest scenery with views across the wide Dovey Valley and north towards the brooding bulk of Cader Idris at the southern end of Snowdonia. ‘Mach’ is surprisingly full of colour and life with brightly painted houses, a bustling market every Wednesday and plenty to justify a rest day here, from galleries and cultural attractions such as the Celtica Centre, a paean to all things Celtic, to the much lauded Centre for Alternative Technology four miles to the north. Unfortunately the Owain Glyndwr display in the old Parliament building is a drab and uninspiring affair and is ripe for 21st century-isation.

The England v Denmark World Cup game delayed progress the following day, which involves ascending back up into the Cambrian Mountains on the south side of the Dovey Valley. You get ever more expansive views of southern Snowdonia from the rolling hills, followed by descents into lush green valley and undesirably steep climbs back onto the tops.

But at least the route was easy to follow, which wasn’t the case on day seven of our trek. A five-mile section of the upland route between Llanbrynmair and Llangadfan has not yet been completed, so walkers are sent on tedious road detours. We couldn’t be doing with this and slowly navigated our own way across the moors, although I later discovered we’d been ‘trespassing’ in doing so. Rupert’s assistance to two injured and sick sheep along the way further delayed progress, but at least we could now justify our transgressions – trespassers we may have inadvertently been, but we were also saving the livestock at the same time.

Over the next couple of days we were to come across three more short sections of the route which are not yet open and also involve road walking detours. Apparently all but one of these sections will be completed by the end of the summer, but it is a bit vexing to find that this ‘new’ National Trail isn’t in truth actually finished yet.

Still, don’t let that put you off, it’s worth the pain of a few miles of road walking. And by our penultimate day, as we set off from the secluded Cownwy Valley pain was the last of our concerns. Feet and legs toughened by over 100 miles of yomping, we were now regular walking machines, and with the sun shining warmly for the first time we were encouraged to stop and paddle in the cool waters of the Afon Vyrnwy, whose north bank we strode beside for much of the day.

I generally prefer to walk in the mountains rather than the valleys, but I have to say the seven-mile riverside stretch from Pont Llogel to Pontrobert was one of the loveliest of the trip. The river gets gradually more boisterous as you move downstream, with small rapids and waterfalls gurgling and glinting beneath overhanging trees. And at the end of it all there’s the Royal Oak in Pontrobert, one of the few pubs along Glyndwr’s Way which is open all day.

We overnighted in the ancient village of Meifod, and woke ready for an eleven mile tramp into Welshpool via rolling farmland and a grand finale in the form of the steep ascent the 341-metre Y Golfa, a fine viewpoint above the town from where you can see much of the terrain you’ve crossed in recent days – indeed, on a clear day you can see as far west as Cader Idris.

Clomping into Welshpool in hot sunshine it took a few minutes to adjust to traffic and people. We had the customary shaking of hands at the completion of the trail and then half an hour to reflect as we waited for the train back to Knighton that hey, we’d just walked the length and breadth of Mid Wales. And what a lovely place it is…



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